The Thief
by SwnyTddObsd
Summary: It's been a long day, and Sweeney Todd is tired but restless. Mrs. Lovett watches as her beloved barber broods, and suddenly, has all but one of his beloved razors stolen. The Beggar Woman is thrown into the mad fray, but who will emerge with their life?
1. Chapter 1

[Seasons Greetings :D A note pertaining to the babble below... I have many notes, but they change as I continue to edit and revise all my work. Try to keep up if you like the story]

9/07/09- Yay! I'm posting a story! Hi :) Although the above pen name may _say_ I'm SweeneyToddObsessor, I am also known around here as SweeneyToddObssessor. A small typo, you may argue, and hard to see, but it was a typo nonetheless. I write on this account, I review and critique on the other…

So, I hope you read this and enjoy it as much as the only two people who have reviewed so far! Thank you for doing so RavenousRIOT and booksroc!

_And a note: if you really want to read this the way I wrote it, I used Microsoft 2007, Sylfaen font(which is also available in Microsoft Word 2003), font size 10.5 with 1.15 spacing. I am a strong supporter of the idea that fonts are a main factor in affecting that little voice you read to yourself in your head with. I think it will give a better affective value (if you don't know what affective value is, go look it up. It can come in handy at random times in life, so I've found) if you read with the straight and pointy font I always use to write for Mr. Todd._

12/18/09- I've added some minor revisions, so if you've read this before, you can reread it I think it sounds a bit better now.

12/18/09 (an hour later)- OH NO. OH NO. OH NOO! What had HAPPENED? Mistakes is under the title of The Thief! This cannot be! I am so sorry! The Thief is the story below! Mistakes is my other story! Oh God, this was a terrible mistake! I feel terrible for making 13 people think Mistakes was actually The Thief, but considering no one pointed it out, I shouldn't be too angry at them, and mostly at myself.

But if you're new to my tales, _bonjour_! (_Ou bonsoir_, depending on when you're reading this.) Enjoy this little plot bunny that turned into a raging and thrashing Godzilla of a thought monster in my mind!

And yes, yes I am overly talkative and ridiculously flamboyant. When I write, I can be _anyone _and _anything_, and that is why I love the written word.

* * *

He did not want to move, he felt he could not move, but the slow and steady footsteps that thumped up the steps spurred him on. Todd's legs were impossibly heavy and his back screamed as he tried to sit up from his cot. _Why now?_ he complained silently to no one.

But he must not tarnish the name of the shop, or else may as well have let Turpin slip through his bloodstained fingers once again, argued his practical side. How easy it was to ignore that side.

The doorknob turned, and heat rushed to his face, giving him enough energy to hurriedly swing his legs off the cot before the boy's face proceeded after the foot that stepped in.

"O-oh," stammered the boy, only a boy, for he looked no older than seventeen. There was a thick accent on his words as he stammered out a rough apology. "I-I am sorry th-that I am disturbing you…" He moved as though to leave the shop, confusion filling his clear brown eyes that were hidden in blue shadows at the angle light was spilling in through the door.

"No, no," Todd assured him, swinging himself completely off the cot and stood up straight in a single fluid motion. "I was just getting up anyway. Sit, sir, sit."

The boy, a French one to be sure, dipped his head gratefully and began to stride towards the chair. Todd leapt forward, putting more energy in his step than he thought he could afford. He smiled, _rather grimly,_ thought the French boy, and gestured that he would take his coat.

The boy nodded broadly to show that he understood and shrugged off his crisp gray coat, which looked navy blue in the rapidly dimming light coming through the windows. Todd had it in his hands before either of them blinked and moved to hang it upon the worn pewter coat hooks that stood by the dresser. Silently, he picked up a razor from an open case and slipped it into its holder against his leg. He reached for his last sheet and shook it out smoothly with practiced ease. The glowing white glared bright even in this weather, testament to Mrs. Lovett's careful scrubbing. He tucked it around the boy's neck and turned back to the dresser, unblinking as his hands mindlessly overturned bottles and mixed ingredients together and beat them to the customary airy froth. His eyes caught the weakly flickering flames on the stubs of candles left on their holders. They cast a peculiar light on the dresser, orange and full of vitality across the otherwise entirely dark blue and gray tint the storm clouded light had seemed to turn the world. A quick job then, he decided, before the candles burned out. The flames waved their heads at him as though in agreement.

The French boy began to turn a bit, restless as the barber prepared his lather, and he turned his head to stare out the massive window to his right. London was a filthy place, nowhere nearly as idyllic as his mother's own Marseilles or his beloved Paris, even with roiling gray storm clouds to hide those smoke stained chimneys that jutted out like unseemly stains across the varied rooftops.

Todd examined the profile that seemed to reflect a pale blue-white in the filtered light that spilled in through that window that had replaced a section of rotting roof. From appearance, the boy was innocent and youthful, just as he had once been… He had once been… How long ago it seemed.

Or perhaps not. He could remember putting that window in as though it were the day before, as though he had never left for that stinking, filthy hellhole of a prison. His eyes flicked to the massive glass frame and the memory came…

_He pranced across the room, pretending to be dazed by the plank that had been unsecured and fallen to give him a bracing blow on the shoulder. He dramatically held his hand to his chest and flung out the other wide just as he actually did trip over a pile of wood, but he caught himself before his face met the sawdusty floor. He coughed and made a face at the cloud that settled over his brown jacket as he sat up again, laughing with twinkling eyes that his new wife mirrored. Her tinkling laughed echoed briefly in the room, brighter than the sunlight that came through the unprotected hole in their roof, and she rapped his head with the plank that she had picked up while he was cavorting around, but she miscalculated its weight and the blow sent him sprawling to the ground again,_

_His love gasped and fell to her knees beside him. He put an aggrieved grimace on his face and pretended to peer at her through a wink._

Todd's heart lurched as his memory provided no face where she should have had one.

_His heart pounded with joy as she smiled invisibly with the slightest twitch of her lips. Her unuttered laugh lingered on those rosy lips, but to any spectator she would have seemed panicked. She grabbed his shoulder and shook it, back and forth, calling him._

He remembered. He could remember what they had done, but why could he not see her face? Why could he not recall that face so beautiful, it seemed too fragile a treasure in his calloused palm?

"_Monsieur Todd! Mister Todd!"_

He stirred. She had not called him that.

"Mister Todd!"

He opened his eyes.

The boy was twisted around in his chair, anxiously watching what must be a ferociously angry face. The barber looked down. Lather was splattered all over the floor, as though he had whipped it too harshly.

"I'm… sorry," he whispered hoarsely, not apologizing only to the boy. His eyes darted back and forth as he wiped up the mess with a rag, his mind wearily searching for that moment again, the moment of time from which he had been snatched; to envelope himself in it again would be heaven three times over, but he was already cursing the boy in his head. "I was… reminded of a day… long ago."

The boy nodded fiercely, apparently not understanding a word Todd was saying. He turned back and leaned against the back of the chair, closing his eyes in thought as Todd stood and wordlessly began to apply the cool lather across his cheeks and part of his throat. The boy's flesh crawled slightly at the slop-like texture of the well prepared lather, but he knew it was natural. The bowl clattered noisily against the surface of the dresser behind the two of them as the barber took half a step back and drew his tool.

The razor sprang open, thirsty in his palm, but he held it back as best he could. Another grim smile leapt to his lips but the boy did not notice as he regarded the rather shabbily dressed room before him. It was mostly bare, with a few scattered pieces of random and worn furniture, though the gillyflowers were a genteel touch to the somber atmosphere, he expected. This day, they were as black as thick blood, and certainly didn't help much when they were the same basic shade of color as everything else in this damn weather at this time of day.

Perhaps this was not the barber Todd… But this was most certainly Fleet Street, and that pretty girl sitting all alone in the well regarded pie emporium downstairs had told him it most certainly was. He smiled softly, his heart pounding in his chest as he remembered the gentle smile on the girl's face, unaware of the lightly brushed pink flush that spread over his face even in the staining light from above. Perhaps… Just perhaps… If she came tomorrow, he would be waiting at a table, with fresh and scented flowers to his palm and a mirroring smile on his face. The knowing smile on the proprietress' face as he ascended the stairs was a sign from Fate, he decided firmly.

He did not, and could not, see the grim stare that nearly bored a hole in the blissful smile that spread across his face.

The blade danced lightly over his flesh, sliding against the skin and picking up the all the foam in a single deft stroke that left the exposed part of his cheek tingling with the stinging but cool sensation of the crushed mint Barker—Todd—added to the lather for a refreshing touch, a small joke Todd delighted in spreading without an accompanying smile. The boy's smile drooped as he relaxed and daydreamed mutedly on the cracked leather chair, his hands rocking back and forth like a conductor's, listening to the music of his imaginings.

_This boy_, mused Todd as he backed away to take another look, he seemed not unlike Todd, when he had been Barker. Life was full of hope; a fresh start was waiting to be made… It would be merciful to end it here, before the boy met his own Judge Turpin who would ruin his life for him, who would spoil the moment of peace and joy in the his life. Todd's empty hand clenched tightly with fury, leaving the fingers of his other hand to slide up and down the whetted side of the razor with deceiving ease.

Of course, there was nothing to say of the cold joy that lifted his heart as death reached its hand out to those upon the chair, the closest he could get to a true happiness since 16 years before, the closest he could get to actual pleasure in this new hollow person, the closest he could get to killing Turpin, to carving out that one throat with single minded dexterity.

With a deliberate slowness now, Todd scraped the razor blade across the boy's cheek again, feeling the slightest of tremors from the blade as it skated smoothly across skin, slicing stubble and accreting the lather across the shining silver. Todd wiped off the lather on the fraying cloth that dangled from a corner of the chair and brought his hand across the boy's throat, his cold hand sliding across the warm, exposed gullet like a stalking predator waiting for the final strike. The boy swallowed reflexively, his skin leapt up with goosebumps again; his body knew what was coming before his brain did.

Todd's wrist tensed and twitched, forcing the keen edge through the soft flesh of the underside of the boy's youthful throat. It was a smoother transition than others; so many old lawyers had stringy tough flesh that made the whole process a bit messier. The boy jerked in the chair, sitting up, his mouth open and eyes glazed with pain and dulled surprise. Todd pulled his hand across the throat, savoring the ease with which the blade parted the red meat that made all mankind, watching the rich scarlet line that he drew across the paling flesh that ran a couple inches deep into the neck.

The body shuddered repeatedly as rich blood sprayed from the cut, his thumping heart forcefully spilling out its contents onto the sheet, where the dark blood soaked through like a colorful map of an expanding empire. Death's glaze was thrown into the eyes that had so recently burned with the flames of love and the glint of intelligence and life. Todd kept his hands on the corpse's shoulders, not to ease the way to the end, but rather, to hold back the body as its shaking began to make it fall forward. His fingers paled with the force he exerted on it, though his stony face showed no sign of strain. The blood had been warm on his sleeve at first, but now, as the spray eased, it began to cool and become sticky on his arms,

Todd watched as the blood spurted forth in a glorious fount, first energetically and noisily, then weakly, and then trickled and bubbled slowly down the cold skin of that mangled throat, where it soaked into the stiff, fresh collar of the boy's white shirt. He backed away half a step to regard his handiwork, this new masterpiece. The boy's face was flecked red with translucent blood, his mouth twisted with pain. The blood that had spilled collected in a thick and large puddle made by the reservoir of the sheet between the boy's legs. He had killed too hastily and had not yet stepped on the pedal, but it had been a quick death nonetheless. His grip tightened on the slick razor again, but his midnight eyes stayed apathetic. Behind him, a single flame spluttered, reaching high above the molten wax below, high above the cruel pewter cup below, and died without so much as a wisp of smoke.

Without hesitation, Todd stepped on the pedal, and with a groan, the chair tilted back, straightened its full length and sent the lolling head sliding down first, the spread lips shining almost black in the dim light, and the corpse was flying, flying, down that chute, past a flap, and onto the bloodied grounds of that slaughter-house of a cellar.

Todd only stood still, thoughts bubbling at the surface of his consciousness.

Thunder rumbled as the rain began.

He blinked, his reflective pose shrouded by confusion. His bemused expression seemed almost innocent, but for the blood spattered all over his face and arms. He whispered incoherent words to himself as a bolt of lightning split the skies in a blinding flash of white. He blinked again, this time reflexively, his mouth set in a frown that said he was struggling mentally, struggling to remember something. His fists clenched even tighter as the memory came back to him.

His mind took him back sixteen years earlier again, this time a rainy day by his wife's side. _They stood by the window, listening to the raindrops bounce off the glass with sharp _pling_ing noises. She leaned her head gently against his shoulder, her slim and soft fingers intertwined with his thicker and calloused fingers. He looked down to bury his nose in her gentle curls and she smiled up at him endearingly, a smile that bolstered his spirit through the depressing downpour that rolled down his—their—window._

_Almost as though it had been waiting for that cue, the first raindrops fell against the window, followed by hundreds of other drops, at first slow and lazy, each drop twisting and losing volume as it fell through the air, splashing into smaller drops against the dusty glass. The rain began to fall faster until a weak but steady stream of water slid past his vision and blurred the city beyond._

He paused to whisper again.

"For you, Lucy, they'll cry," he muttered bitterly, watching the raindrops slip by once more. "For you."

* * *

So. What'd you think? Please leave a review, considering I did put a few hours into this measly three and a half page story! Maybe I'll update in a month, whenever I can finish... ;)


	2. Chapter 2

_**1/08/10 **__-__What?? Weeks? Simply to post this? I had it all written out and everything… __I really loathe finals. Well, here it is at last! Hope you enjoy it! :D_

_**12/21/09**__ - Aargh. Aaaaarrrgh. *bellows like a wounded penguin otter* (for the __Avatar: The Last Airbender/ The Legend of Aang__ fans :D)_

_WOW, I haven't updated in FOREVER! And I completely screwed up my Document Manager skills last month. I wonder if people are still reading my things. :-/ I don't deserve to have them do so. But I nearly finished this piece "today", the day Sweeney Todd first appeared in theaters in New York, where I live, two years ago. Geesh. It's been two years? Where did the time go?_

_Many thanks to WishingOne and NellieTodd for the motivating "faves"! And to Woe for that deadline setting Story Alert! And again, to Wishing One for that review :D I felt wonderful getting that from an aspiring filmwriter! If you're interested in perhaps finding a role in WishingOne's Sweeney Todd production, then I recommend you go to WishingOne's profile and look at the information there. It sounds wonderful! _

_To ramble a bit before I start (in case you haven't noticed my easily distracted thought swings), I feel that Todd is becoming more and more underappreciated these days. It seems only a few people (including my lovely reviewers and myself , of course :]) are still following every day they can. Unfortunately, I can't afford to do that often. If I have time, I'm working or napping, the latter of which I should try to do again. But I feel terrible. How can I claim to start a multi-chapter story if I can't force myself to continue to the "multi-" part?_

_So this chapter will be slow. Slower than tenacious lil' salt-shriveled snails caught in molasses across a three-legged hundred and two year old Galapagos tortoise's shell. But it is a chapter. And a chapter means I can move on to areas where I would prefer to write about._

_Enjoy! Or not :P I like reviews though, offering criticism. Plus, if you could... you know... Tell me where I went wrong, or what seems OOC... Stuff like that? Thanks!_

* * *

Todd watched in silence from his chair as a cool wind swept across the rooftops of London. His face was tight with thought; the usually pale sheen to his skin glowed nearly blue in the light that came from through the cover of the clouds. His eyes looked, but did not see, as the coal black smoke that belched from the chimneys across the city was whipped away by invisible gusts, or as battered figures on the street below scurried like burned rats into open doorways, as the rain whipped the windows with dulled _plop_s. His pale lips turned downwards at the corners, but to look at him, one would not think he was really frowning in displeasure or sorrow. It was natural with him, and people expected as much from him.

His shoulders were hunched, and his shirt cold with blood. The razor which had last done the deed seemed to hum in its holster, but he did not want to listen today.

Today was a low day. Mrs. Lovett had insisted, when she came up with his dinner, that it was just the weather getting to him. He had pondered this, as he pondered everything, not noticing as she scampered out of his room without giving him the usual abashed peck. His countenance had been dark as well as thoughtful then, and she had not returned yet. She would not enter the shop until the next day, since he routinely popped in downstairs during the closing rush, just to keep neighborly rumors and suspicions quiet.

A muffled but shrill chirrup wafted through the hefty floorboards, a sound Todd had long wished to stomp out as one would a crawler. It was the boy, the blasted one whom Mrs. Lovett doted on so lovingly, the one towards whom she had had the audacity to refuse to allow Todd to kill.

_Let them be_, advised a voice. _She'll turn away from you. She'll worry about the boy._

_But he might know. He might guess._

If the boy confronted him, would he slit his throat on the spot? Without a doubt. However, when one stopped to think about it , it was unlikely that the boy would try in the first place. He was dim and uneducated. His perspectives were limited and majorly dependent on Mrs. Lovett and Todd himself. And to think this boy was almost old as his own little Johanna would be now… Little Johanna, who was not so little.

His thoughts turned nostalgic, following the bait he had set up from himself. Sweeney Todd found himself submerged in memories, a silent stream of them, smiles and laughter, times he had lost, laughter than had shook his shoulders until they ached, smiles he could no longer stretch across his face like a banner across a room, tears that had allowed a flow of misery to drain out of him like water from a spout. His stomach twisted nauseatingly as every time he looked up in his mind, in his memory, and he felt the skin at the corners of his mouth burn with the intensity of the grins he felt but could not pull and yet…

Always, he saw no features across the blurred skin of the face across from him. He grit his teeth invisibly, the only sign of his frustration a twitch of his jaw. He had long since perfected the still face, the unmoving rock mask that he could put on anytime, but he could not find a memory strong enough, find a moment kindling enough to stir his mind. Not even the day he had been taken away could give him another mask, another face. It had all been so many years ago… He could remember shouting himself hoarse in the night, that nightmare gripping his mind like a vice does a board. He could remember with such vivid detail; his thrashing though sleeping body constantly slapping the splintering wood and cold metal, calling in fevered dreams for Lucy to find him, to help him, to guide him, to protect him, to wait for him, to call for him, to remember him… And she had gone. She was gone. She had slipped so easily into the call of death, the urge to drop one's troubles and forget it all, to relax all responsibility from one's self… All in all, she had been weak.

The rock mask slipped, for just a second, so quickly that its wearer did not realize this. All it took was a twitch of the eyebrows and a sudden darting of the eyes.

If there was one thing he had learned from his time at Botany Bay, it was to despise weakness. He would not have seen such an extreme error in his ways if he had remained in London. It was the _one_ thing to be thankful for, he supposed.

Hating weakness… It was not quite loving strength, which was similar, but still not exactly the same. From the depths of his heart, with hatred almost as strong as his loathing towards Turpin, came pointless fury that rendered him helpless every time he remembered a scream that had escaped another man's lips, that had bubbled past lips rosy with the blood of life and death. Whips had cracked, pain had seared, fists had thrashed, but it could all be erased over time. Every inhuman sound of pain, fear, or hopelessness, there was something behind it worse than anything physically challenging. He didn't quite have a name for it, but it lingered in his soul, scarred his mind. He hated that. He hated with such a feeling it beat away attempts to bind it to mere words, surpassed the wisest reasoning and logic… It was like a primal instinct that had been instilled within him, a reaction to a cause whose effect was harsher than a physical blow. He had believed that he had quashed all compassion years ago, but just as when a wretched bug was smashed against a wall, the remaining smear was difficult to wash away.

Could she have thought about him, the way he had thought of her? He still did too, even if she could no longer breathe the air he breathed, feel the razors as he felt them, taste cold fury as he could upon his tongue. How it all worked together seamlessly, like a machine. He craved vengeance, he had his razors, and he breathed, he _lived_.

It wasn't that he did not know how to live without the reassuring weight of the silver within his grasp or how to be happy, how it _felt_ to be happy. Rather, the case was more of one where Sweeney Todd simply did not _want_ to enjoy the sweetness of life. He had seen how fragile a want could be shattered and a need forgotten, and life outside a prison was no different than that of a free barber. To live with Lucy's death peacefully settled into his mind and into some of his nearly non-existent conscience would be worse than living without taking a breath, simply because he knew he could fix it as well as the next man, or even better. She could be avenged, with just a minute movement, a few seconds, and her spirit could move on.

Yes, her spirit. He knew it was there. Somewhere. Following him. It knew. It could see his soul and his heart, and it followed his every movement. He knew it was there, because he could nearly feel love, coming towards him in waves from an unseen source around him. He did not want to open his heart to it, for it was not his time to join her yet. No, he would have to ease her passing, and he would, with all the stubborn doggedness of a terrier after a rat, he would—

He looked at the razor in his hand with the slightest bit of disgust tugging at his mouth. What a life this was, pursuing his clouds, reaching through the mist to part the way… to what? What could he gain? What more was there? He felt the urge to toss the razor aside with petulance, but his fingers would not unclench themselves from the warm carved handle. Rather, the razor seemed to cling to him and whisper his name in a soundless call.

He smirked at it. "And whom do you call for, little friend?" he absentmindedly asked the unanswering tool, "Do you call for Sweeney Todd, or for Benjamin Barker? Choose wisely."

The sunlight caught in the carved swoops and lines of the blade, sending the light dancing across his face.

"Clever," he mumbled. "Quick." His wrist fell down over the armrest, bouncing his arm up and down like a weight hanging from a spring. Almost embarrassed, despite the lack of the presence of others, Todd returned to his brooding silence.

Johanna. Johanna. Once the overlooked family member. Now his object of obsession. That fool sailor was at a loss for words to describe her, no matter how hard he tried. Yellow hair, porcelain skin, eyes that seemed to roil with colors as the clouds moved. This was all Benjamin Barker knew of his daughter. Did she look like him, against her face? Did her eyes have that slight impish lift at the corners?

_Never like me_, Todd reminded himself bitterly. _I am alone. I am no father; Benjamin Barker is a father. Benjamin Barker is dead! So _I_ assume the duties… of a god father._

There was no question in his last thought.

Sweeney Todd was a certain man. He was certain in everything he did. Watching him, you could have sworn he knew where his foot would be in three steps, or which way the fickle wind would suddenly blow, or how many more customers would be coming—and leaving—each day. He knew that he knew this, it was a certainty that lingered in his stomach, telling him that Fate was begging his pardon.

Fate is never to be forgiven. He could tell you this. You must take it by the throat and throttle it, punishing and loving it all at once. In the way that you must teach an incorrigible child, you must teach destiny in the same way. If not, it would sneer… and overwhelm you…

Again, Todd relived his drownings in more than just water. Memories once submerged in time resurfaced, regaining life with a painful sharpness. Lonely bitter mutterings into the darkness tickled his tongue. An emptiness that suffocated the weak, that throttled the helpless, that which he had fought tooth and nail to survive… this hollow heaviness took its place in his mind's eye and heart.

If he still had a heart, that is. Perhaps it had failed him as he fought and now he knew little more than what he was told. Perhaps he had won, but the price of conquering had been his heart. Any way he thought of it though, he had lost so much to it; he let so much fall into its yawning mouth that he had only barely been able to escape. _He alone had been able to escape…_ something seemed to soothingly stroke the tightness in his chest.

_He_ had escaped. He _had_ escaped. And he had _escaped._

The nightmare was over. His dawn was approaching.

Sweeney Todd smirked one last time. How heroic that sounded, especially considering how the judge had escaped him yet again. It was no fault of the sailor boy; he was simply the tool of Fate, a puppet under the sway of the heavens above that moved to stop Sweeney Todd in his mission. But look at Todd today, had he not shrugged off the shackles and crossed the obstacles of Fate already? He was back in London, not Botany Bay. He had his razors and a shop, not a hat with which to beg coins. Sweeney Todd was now an individual force waiti—

He froze. His weary mind gratefully ceased its churning. His raised hand dropped limply.

_Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud._

Such a familiar sound. Tingles of familiarity prickled his mind. In an instant, he took in his situation.

Footsteps. Coming up the steps. One entrance: the door. His shirt: soaked with blood. The customer: a

witness. Such bare facts led to but one truth.

Todd rose from the chair, taking one inaudible step forward. Another piercing cry rang out from beneath the floorboards, but he ignored it. His hand was raised once again, but this time, Sweeney Todd was listening intently to the battle hymn the metal hummed, as though it was his wielder, and he, its weapon.

* * *

_**AN **__**2**__**: **__If this story sounded totally weird to you, please read the following and try to understand why I use so many commas and 'ands" (look, there I go again! _[X _)._

_I was trying to think about Todd himself and his memories. I try to keep my fan fics apart, but sometimes they overlap, so this applies to __Mistakes__ as well. _

… _I think that we cannot envision things as easily as people from the past could, because technology has fed us these images we want to see to the point that we can only think about the parts that we really remember. Before today, I think the mind was more of an open canvas, something we could "paint on" with the love and dedication of a true lover of the moment. Now we might think of a memorized image as a photo inside the memory chip of our memories._

_Was that dramatic enough for you?_

_Yeah, I thought it was melodramatic too XD. I'm just so bushed, it's not even funny anymore. I have 3 hours of sleep each day. I'm _fourteen_. Sleep is like… like… well, not breathing, but at least eating or something! __**–stares delusionally at pretty swirly patterns on screen that no one else can see- **And skiing in a technologically isolated area doesn't sound too productive to me either._

_On a tangent, the ending, where Todd feels the sounds are familiar, refers to a scene in the second chapter of my other story. I'll publish that one before February. I have a few friends willing (all too willing, I think) to hit me over the head with textbooks if I fail to. XD_

_Another side note: for maximum effect, copy and paste the story onto a Microsoft Word 2007 document, change the font so that you are confronted with a 10.5-sized-Sylfaen-mass-of-words, and re-read!_

_Oh, one last thing, I swear! No, no, I don't know what the tortoise had to do with the snails, but they had to get somewhere SOMEHOW. Gotta love those snails :] Reviews _**please**! _Even if you only want to berate me for writing such a short piece (the next one'll be longer, I swear!), I'll take the advice and reviews to heart! Please? :]_


	3. Chapter 3

6/19/10 – YAY! Mrs. Lovett time! Hehehe :3 I don't have much to say… I guess just the usual old "This doesn't belong to me" stuff belongs here… You evil copyright laws are laughing at me, I KNOW IT! *shake fist*

And of course, my mandatory "Read this in 10.5 sized Sylfaen font on Microsoft Word for best effect" junk. But I mean it. So it's here.

On we go. I wrote this after my art finals. XD

I blame MagiStream, but not in a terrible way of blaming. I love the site to death~ XD It's the second biggest obsession of my life, after Sweeney Todd. is honestly worth the time you put into it.

/shameless advertising

* * *

"Bloody ol' rain," Mrs. Lovett muttered crossly. "Always falling when no good soul be needin' it… Toby!" She reached a gloved hand up to her forehead and pushed her limp hair out of her face, smearing flour across her forehead (not that anyone noticed).

The boy ran out from beneath the awning and began to look for the exhausted baker, who happened to still be mumbling murderously below her breath. "Spent all morning fixing meself up, and now—" A flash of blue and white at the corner of her eye, and then a head of blond hair, came far too close. The trays were swept from her hand as an arm whirled about in surprise, and Mrs. Lovett hoped that at least some would have the good luck to land neatly on a table.

"Oh, pardon me, dear!" The ever burdened baker quickly dropped to her knees to gather the dirty trays that had just clattered noisily all over the cobblestone floors. A flushed young lady with a pretty little face stammered some quick apologies for the collision, but fled before the rain could soak through her satin dress.

"That way, missus! Over to the shop, please, sah! You can finish your meal there, guaranteed! I'll be bringin' more chairs in soon," chirruped Toby, already dashing around the tables, wiping off spilled ale with an old rag he kept tied to his waist and collecting abandoned plates as his undeveloped voice directed the stragglers through the maze of tables outside. "Mrs. Lovett, mum, you go there, too! I'll clean up real good 'ere!" he shouted earnestly, shaking his head so hard that a spray of water rose from his hair like a mongrel shaking itself off. The baker had to smile as the boy fell to his self-assigned tasks in a whirlwind of energy, leaving her to continue collecting the trays.

Toby was a good boy. A bit distrustful of Mr. Todd, that was true, but a real young gentleman at heart, a bit like a young Benjamin Barker, or an Andrew Hopkins. Mrs. Lovett's heart ached just a tiny bit more as her mind began to wander. Did the lad fit into her dreams? She would have no real use for the boy if she did convince Mr. Todd to come on a seaside journey, as fond as she was of him around the shop. If anything, he was the exact opposite of dear Mr. Todd. Toby was forever energetic, ever bouncing from customer to customer, slipping up sometimes, in his eagerness. And Mr. T… and Mrs. Lovett herself… well, they were getting along in their years, now, and soon the shops would both be shut.

Her own discomforts were abruptly pushed away without so much as a groan as she suddenly recalled how Mr. Barker used to complain about the rain. What if the barber still found the atmosphere poor for his joints? Had the roof begun to leak again? The man didn't know how or when to complain, after so many years in a filthy little prison cell.

"Toby…" she called quietly, putting down her trays. "Be a lad an' take these t' the kitchens to be washed. You don't 'arve to wash them yourself, leave that to me. I'll be back in a tick, just you see," She gave him a distracted smile and missed his reply.

By now, the water from the skies dripped loosely, spilling nearly horizontally from the clouds, carried on gusts of wind too high up to whip the few that braved the streets. Mrs. Lovett wrinkled her nose as unpleasant scents penetrated the heavy, warm humidity. No doubt they came from the bakehouse, but the sewers could always be blamed on days like these. She giggled a bit hysterically to herself. Between sewers or corpses, which one was dirtier?

Rain trickled down the wooden steps, small waterfalls of dirty runoff carrying bits of this and that away from the top of the stairs. A bit of snuff, the corner of a dropped flyer, a calling card… What distinguished men came to Mr. Todd's shop.

And never left.

Mrs. Lovett's knees had begun to ache already, with that tiny little climb, but again she ignored her own minor pains and reached out for the handle of the door.

"Mr. T," she called gently as the door creaked open at her light touch. _Useless old lock_, she thought to herself irritably. _If Mr. T didn't have such an attachment to the old furnishings, I'd have it fixed, or replaced. Poor soul doesn't know when or how to tell need or want. Silly man._

She half stepped into the room, keeping one foot planting firmly in the dry room, and letting the other foot trail slightly in the open air. Mrs. Lovett's brow furrowed as she started to jiggled the old knob for half a second before looking up to ask Mr. Todd if he would like a new set of lock and key, when a thick and heavy hand closed around her throat and dragged her forward as another powerful looking hand knocked the door shut with an almost lazy blow. Her scream did not come out as she would have liked it, but instead sounded gargled and breathless. Her back slammed against the door and a burst of pain jolted up her spine as the doorknob jabbed her impetuously.

Wild black eyes stared at her, darting over her face, but not truly seeing a thing. She could see herself in them: just as wide eyed, bedraggled, soaked, pale. Even her slightly opened mouth was discernable in those flat depths. She was caught in them, and could not help but stare straight back, until the intensity of that gaze woke her as it had hypnotized her.

A moment of silence passed between the two as Mrs. Lovett slowly turned her head to look at the hand that had slammed the door. A razor, frozen in flight, hung perilously close to her soft skin. Even as she stood, the baker could imagine how her own skin would split under the whetted edge. Against her will, her mind conjured the images of how her blood would barely spurt to the side, catching the wooden walls and door. Her limp body would fall unsupported, just like the bodies she dealt with, and Mr. Todd would step back, his face—

The real Mr. Todd, the one whose tight grip was making his startled victim light-headed and dizzy, the one who saw no one beneath his grip, but rather only felt— he took a step back, accidentally pulling Mrs. Lovett with him. His fingers released their hold, one after the other like dancers, floating off with grace.

The razor, however, did not move, as his hand rested on her shoulder. His eyes skittered over everything in the room but for her face, but she watched only the razor and the hand.

A distant crack of thunder stirred them both.

As if he was horrified, the barber stumbled backwards and collapsed onto his chair, razor ever tightly in his grip. His eyes closed, and his breathing slowed, but Mrs. Lovett knew that he never really slept, and never so early in the day. Her mouth opened and closed like a stupid fish's, but by now she found herself only able to sag against the door, feeling the frame shuddering as brief blasts of wind howled for her to stand and move, or suffer from rheums in the night.

She pushed herself to her feet by leaning hard against the door and walking herself upright with her hands. Her right eye glistened with an unshed tear of momentary horror and her head spun with sudden dizziness. She blinked it all away as she rasped aloud.

"Come now, Mr. T," she murmured for lack of better to say. "We need t' get yah a noice 'ot cup of tea, eh? Or I could warm up some gin, if yeh like."

"I am not a child," he growled in reply, a little too quickly.

"Never said you were," she quipped back, and then fell into another silence as she rubbed her throat gingerly. She could feel her heart still racing through that thin membrane of her skin, and as she did every day, Nellie Lovett became painfully aware of how everyone, even she herself and Mr. Todd, was truly a bag of flesh and blood, waiting to split at the seams or spoil like bad meat. It was really just a mercy, the two had realized, to let that flesh come to good use. There was no need to wait for the Good Lord to call them home. After all, that's why He made it possible to kill them, wasn't it?

_Mr. Bar- Todd is blood, and I am flesh_, she thought a bit ruefully to herself. _Flesh and bone and blood._

_Mortal. Human. Able to die._

_Able to love. Able to care. Able to help and to watch. Is that a curse or a blessing?_

_Who cares?_

She shrugged, more to herself than anyone. She shivered a bit, remembering the painfully slow death she had imagined for herself. She steeled herself, and continued to chatter on to him, although she had some qualms about the odd lights dancing past her vision.

"Now, it's a good thing we got ourselves that canopy downstairs, it's a right 'orror teachin' some of the customers simple manners! Just today, my trays all went into the air, thank to a little lady with a head of golden hair—" She cut herself off abruptly, taking a sharp breath. A sensitive topic around Mr. T, Lucy was. Lucy or Johanna, always those two, with their hair and skin, and all that foolishness running through the poor barber's head. It must have been painful to keep thinking about something so long gone for him.

"Are… Are you alright, Mr. T?" she muttered abashedly. He gave no response but a disinterested tilt of his head, away from her. The room was quiet enough to make Mrs. Lovett almost miss the bustle and noise that must be going on below, in the shop, but her heart beat with quiet relief that he had missed what she'd said.

Worry suddenly flooded her heart again, this time for the shop, and she gave Mr. Todd a glare, although her irritation was more towards herself. "Come now. I've called you a lump, and you most certainly _are _being one great lump. Up and at 'em, Mr. T, as though it were your bloody old judge before you."

He finally looked at her, at the mention of the judge, and relief mixed with disgust began to thaw her limbs and heart.

"Let's go, dearie."

* * *

A/N: The thing I said about God does NOT reflect me. I am a Christian, through and through. Writing for different characters forces me to change what I say sometimes.

Just needed to get that off my chest.

I'm sorry that this isn't really descriptive or well thought out, but whatever I do while on a car for 12 hours tends to be of poor quality.

I've seen Alice in Wonderland, what, seven times now? I bought the three disc Blu-ray edition…

"KILL ME!" "HE TRIED TO KILL _ME_!" "KILL ME NOW, YOUR MAJESTY!"

Bwahaha.

If you read this far, what kind of cookies do you like?

I give you cookies. I luffs you :3 You can feel free to hate me :(

~SwnyTddObsd


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